New Mobile Report Gundam W: The Last Tango
by The Grandiloquent Demagogue
Summary: This is my take on what happens after Endless Waltz, or rather my own series. Please read and review and be thorough!
1. Reunions and Resurrections

Gundam Wing: The Last Tango 

Disclaimer:  All that is Gundam Wing is owned by… Sotsu Agency or Sunrise or Bandai.  I make no attempts to infringe anything, and I see no point in posting disclaimers that no one cares about anyway on a fanfiction site, of all places.

Note:  I have been planning out this pet project for around three years, and at last I have decided to actually write out my daydreams.  This is an ambitious fic- I hope to write 25 to 50 "episodes" in, oh, say half a decade or so.  It's all meant to be a second series to GW, and I hope all of you fans will read it!  Please review it afterwards and be thorough in your comments.  Thank you!

**Episode One: Reunions and Resurrection**

Note:  Since this is a prelude to conflict, it's going lack a lot of fighting.  However, it won't be uneventful, even in parts that seem peaceful and orderly.  Please read and respond!

            Ryo Black woke up tossing and turning in the wee hours of the morning.  He glanced at the clock hidden amongst his things on his bedside table, itself lost within his cramped bedroom.  One A.M.  He sighed.  Every night brought more haunted dreams of history.  No- not nightmares, simply bad memories half-hidden in his mind.  Twisted and torn, they tormented him about an age of war.  He had no small part in the great battles, but he had long since realized that he was simply a puppet within the machinations of greater powers that were.  Nevertheless, the memories came, and they were opaque, clouded as if behind a film of one who had cataracts, yet when the blood spilled from men, the smoke rose from within the machines of war, the colors were vivid.

Wishing to escape, he went into his kitchen for coffee.  His house was small, yet cheap- despite the mass destruction of the War, a few western, industrialized economies magically improved tenfold following the Earth Sphere Unified Nation's establishment.  Populations weary of the fighting resumed the hard, yet happy task of reunification within one union, and soldiers left for the provincial capitals to become statesmen, eager to beat swords into plowshares for the profit of political power.  Ryo was not one of them.  Having lost all hope for personal repentance and the acceptance of society, he left his organization and his fellow soldiers to live a different life in this dirty section of a dirty city in the former States.  

            As the percolator brewed, an eighth sense warned that something was amiss.  Trusting his war-hardened instincts, he spun and slammed the large, black-suited man behind him with his coffee mug.  Ryo then took his pot of steamed joe and threw it at another foe in the darkness.  The first man was on the ground, happily knocked cold, whilst the second was writhing with both burns and plastic shards on and in him.  A tall but lighter man grabbed Ryo from behind with one arm and held a rag soaked in chloroform to his throat with the other.  How predictable.  Ryo simply took the man's arms and flipped him off his back.  Abruptly, six more goons ran in, demanding him to go with them.  Instead of extending the fight, Ryo took the easy way out by simply leaping through his kitchen window.  Besides working out every day in this city, he had also taken the initiative to buy weak windowpanes to make a quick exit accessible.

            Ryo ran across the front yard, and through the suburbs.  At last, the Night Capture had come.  Though he had not expected the peace to die so quickly, Ryo had already made escape plans the day he saw the house.  Running amidst several of his neighbors' yards, he knew which hedges to hide behind and paused every few seconds in the underbrush to check the progress of the goons.  They were not to be seen.  Smiling at his progress, he took a route into the city streets and entered a small alley.  Taking out a key, Ryo unlocked the solitary door on the small building- a doorway that would lead into the back area of an abandoned store neglected by urban renewal.

            However, before he opened it, someone from inside did.  A figure stepped out.  In the dim glow of a streetlight, Ryo could recognize the man, who he knew to be barely out of his teens.  The man-boy was of obvious Chinese ethnicity, and wore his neatly combed jet-black hair in an anachronistic ponytail and was dressed in a simple uniform.  He was a man of justice, honor, and duty.  He was also a mass murderer, a semi-misogynist, and one who killed many in their sleep.

            "Again we meet, Chang Wufei," said Ryo, not missing a beat.

            Several of the suited men stepped into the alley.  "Again I have you where I can kill you… Heero Yuy," replied Wufei.  

            "I never knew you would defect from the Preventers, Wufei."

            "I did not, and you shall be coming with me to headquarters."

            "And if I refuse?"

            "You die, of course."

            Heero sighed.  "What do you need for me now?  I am prepared to die with my past."

            "Then we'll be prepared to supply such a death.  But it shall be a waste of a good soldier- and a good friend."

            A great glow illuminated the alley.  Above them hovered a small helicopter that moments ago was not there.  Someone tossed down a rope ladder, and Wufei continued, "All soldiers who remain neutral in the future eventually oppose us, sooner or later.  Those who oppose are the wicked few who will make the innocent masses die.  That is injustice.  Join us, or you shall die as one of those few."  

            Though the light glared, Heero could faintly see a passenger in the helicopter- a stately, dignified blond young woman who he had not seen for decade-long months: the deputy minister of the Earth-Colony Diplomatic Consul, Relena Darlian.  She seemed worse to wear than he had seen her last, at a great speech advocating further disarmament in Brussels.  Doubtless her many duties were taking their toll on her, but he suspected that she was also worrying over him.

            _Bait._  Heero thought.  He had never fully loved anyone, not even war, but he had slight feelings for her.  To say that the opposite was true would be an understatement.  If she followed him into death, what would be the cost on the ESUN?  _A supreme loss for the supporters of universal peace, of course._  Well, Heero never hated peace…     

            "We are more machines of war than anything made by man," he said to Wufei, "even more than the Gundams were."

            With that, Heero Yuy grabbed on to the ladder and climbed.  Without a doubt, he knew that he was going to save the world.

***

            On the other side of the world all hell was breaking loose.  A battle was being fought in the Arabian Peninsula.  A battle to end all battles, or so the generals thought.  It would be the last antiheroic stand for a virus that would be purged from the Earth Sphere, one that either guaranteed its destruction- or its rebirth.  That virus was OZ.

            "Squadron Red, follow my assault.  I repeat, squadron Red, follow my-"     

            A missile exploded right next to the OZ-07 AMS Aries of Lieutenant Commander Markim Jaspari, interrupting his message to his teammates in the 23rd Airborne Invasion Squadron.  He was edgy.  A mobile suit may be a fifty-foot tall super-robot made of eight tons of neo-titanium, yet a laser-guided SAM can still reduce it into a pile of scrap metal and molten slag.  The desert landscape was filled with such piles, each a messy grave for the soldiers Markim had known for years, men and women who had fought beside him again and again under impossible odds, now to face their final fight.  Within the Aries, he knew his fate.  

After the War the public had seen who had been ruthlessly manipulating them for years- the Organization of Zodiac, stereotypical megalomaniac bad guys come to life.  Civilian groups raged against them, branding them the upstarts that had destroyed the reforming United Earth Sphere Alliance, caused the colonies to rebel, ruined the nascent peace the opportunistic but relatively benevolent Romefeller Foundation through civil war, which all led to White Fang and the Mariemaia Army to start their own respective insurrections.  By taking control of the UESA, they had inadvertently murdered the lives of millions of people in all of the Earth Sphere.  Survivors of OZ were hunted down, put in one-side trials, and then brutally executed without another thought.  Markim's group, led by the so-called "General" Tremadoc, was perhaps the last remnant of OZ on Earth.  

Having escaped to the desolate corners of the planet, this last OZ army was in the United Arab States for a grim purpose.  Though officially all MS technologies were banned, several regions were allowed to manufacture defensive weapons to deal with terrorist forces, ironically OZ itself.  And so, their mission was clear: capture the local factories to help launch a counteroffensive.  However, they hadn't counted on the Maganac Corps- again.  

"Come on, boys, Master Quatre and the Preventers want us to take these guys out!" radioed a young, fez-wearing Maganac by the name of Khalid Al-Onder.  "Like decapitated roaches, OZzies just won't stop struggling, even when they're dead!"  With heavy support from provincial militias and the Preventer Field Soldiery, his band of former bandits was slaughtering the rebels by the dozens.  The forty Maganac MS had managed to trap the OZ force miles from the factories, within sight of a secret Preventers' base in the Rub 'al Khali desert.

Even though he hadn't heard the message, Markim knew in his heart that their cause was doomed.  Seven out of twelve pilots of his squad had already been killed.  Their ammunition, already in short supply, had now been depleted to a bare minimum.  Like whirlwinds of the desert, the Maganac custom suits dove in and out the groups of Aries and Leos, their hometown advantage showing.  As the sand clogged up the sensors and engines of the ragtag OZ suits, Markim knew that each Maganac bastard was grinning as they sliced through blind cockpits easily with their heat axes.  The "Forever Forty" was truly near invincible in the desert.  

As part of the main force, the 23rd Airborne had gone from securing a beachhead to fighting off an ambush to desperately trying to distract the Maganacs in order to let the few support teams behind them escape.  Markim grimaced as one of his fellow officers was enveloped by fire, his suit punctured by a Preventer beam cannon.  _What the hell are those Intel pencil pushers doing here, anyway?  _He wondered to himself as he repaid the favor by blowing the enemy's head with his chain rifle.  _At least they make easy targets._  Three more of the Preventer's cronies left the battle in piece as an OZ-launched missile landed in the middle of their small crowd.

Khalid frowned as the Aries killed yet another Preventer.  As "guest" operatives, they were supposed to be well protected by the Maganacs, and Director Une would not be happy about the number of casualties.  He and two others tried to find the OZzie sniper, but he was good.  Though the OZzie was near the front lines, he was weaving within it while managing to catch a few slow-moving fools, even marking a supposedly untouchable Maganac.    

Grinning at the little victory, Markim decided to concentrate on sniping the lousy pilots rather than fighting futilely head-on.  With two of his teammates covering for him, he sniped several cockpits in an almost embarrassingly easy manner.  Nevertheless, more and more local militiamen in Preventer-made Taurus suits entered the fray, striking at OZ soldiers occupied with fighting Maganacs and fleeing.  Four lines of hovering artillery MS formed around the perimeter.  Five Maganacs flanked Markim.  Within minutes, the rebels were surrounded.

A radio broadcast was made to all OZ troops from a specially striped Taurus near Khalid.  "Insurgent soldiers of OZ, this is Commander Lawrence of the Preventer Middle East Field Soldiery.  Please stop this useless battle immediately!  Do not waste the lives of yourselves and your comrades in order to serve a doomed cause… the freedom of peace shall be brought to all of the World Nation, and those who lay down their arms to help bring it shall receive mercy!"

Markim boiled in his seat, feeling as if the cockpit's A/C was not working.  Freedom of peace?  What a lie.  _Yes, peace to the people who had chosen the right sides and played their cards right instead of fighting for what they believe in, _he thought.  _There will not be peace for dreamers in the end.   _

He considered his options: A- surrender and be put through public denouncement, face a terrible degrading trial in a biased kangaroo court, and then silently executed to the delight of billions or B- take as many of those Maganac dogs with him.

As the general finished his plead, Markim radioed back on a frequency open to all. "I have just one thing to say," he replied.

"What's that?"

"Remember OZ!" he screamed.

Without thinking, he switched on his beam saber.  Before any could react Markim charged at the five Maganacs, slicing through cockpits and heads.  Fueled with anger added with adrenaline, he knew he had seconds left to live before someone charged him, and did not care.  Using short bursts on his veniers, he became a harder target as he leapt above enemies and dispatched them with one clean, simple sweep.  The rest of the OZ troops, inspired by his attack, decided that the battle was not yet lost and fought back against the Maganacs.  Suddenly, the Forever Forty became Thirty.

Realizing that the Corps had actually suffered casualties, the militiamen and Preventers charged at the suicidal resisters.  In five minutes, they closed in the perimeter and killed a dozen more OZ troops.  General Tremadoc radioed a surrender, and the slowly, his soldiers dropped their weapons and powered down.

Markim was not one of them.  Caught in a berserker fury, he resolved to go out in a bang.  But it was not in a frenzy- Markim calculated and reacted faster and faster to the forces around him, killing as many as possible.  His thoughts raced to a point with nothing but visions of the future- where would the heat axe land, which man was going to fire his Vulcan cannon, who was about have a jammed rifle…

"Maganac Khalid, destroy that lunatic so we can end this battle," ordered Captain Lyons, a former Alliance veteran who had defected to the Maganacs and risen to his rank because of the precious information he stole.

"Affirmative, I'll call my men."

There was a scoff on the other end.  "You're way too pessimistic.  We have won already.  The Maganacs once again triumphs over OZ!  Now, go!"

As he left, Khalid thought to himself, _That pompous old fool has completely forgotten when we used to be bandits at OZ's mercy.  No, he never knew those days before we had support from Master Quatre and the Gundams.  The whole Corps has gone soft thanks to the Preventers._

He watched the Preventer troops and militia forces feebly attempt to disable the insane OZ pilot.  Though as a Maganac, he had nothing but contempt for the OZzies that were once backed by Romefeller, Khalid had to admit that this guy was pretty good- it was virtually impossible to fight hand-to-hand combat in an Aries.  Smiling to himself, he decided to practice his own saber fighting, and took out a heat scimitar.

"Let's not make me have to use this on you, OZzie." he warned.

A furious voice snarled through the speakers.  "You won't get a chance!"

Markim swiped at the Maganac suit's head, but Khalid was quick.  He sidestepped and tried to cut through the Aries' chest, but his blow was parried.  A duel began.  Each blow received a parry, each stab missed.  Markim was stunned.  In his mad fury, he could see the battlefield move in slow motion- shots went by like lazy butterflies, and charging mobile suits had looked like drunken pedestrians.  However, this foe's sword fighting was still in actual speed!  In his suit, Khalid, too was surprised, for he too saw in slow motion, but dismissed it as adrenaline.

Meanwhile, in the desert sky a huge ship eclipsed the Sun.  Soldiers stopped fighting to look up at the monstrosity: a giant, triangular _Peacemillion_-class carrier that looked as it could hold dozens of MS.  It was light blue- the same color of clear sky, and had a picture of a seabird holding a lightening bolt in its beak and bombs in its claws painted below its bow.  Suddenly, its payload hatch snapped open and fifty brand-new Orion mobile suits parachuted onto the battlefield and began attacking the Maganacs, militiamen, and Preventers, who retreated, abandoning the OZ troops.

On the edge of the area, Captain Lyons screamed at the fleeing forces.  "You cowards!  We have enough men here combined to take them on!  We can fight them back, we're Maganacs, for God's sake!"  

A Preventer agent transmitted back, "Aren't you afraid of their far range, sir?"

"Nonsense, they couldn't hit an Oliphant at this dist-" he replied as a bazooka shot promptly blasted his suit.

Markim realized that they weren't attacking him or his seventy-odd remaining forces.  After quickly telling his men to start resisting their would-be captors and to assist these new fighters, he got a message of his own.  There was no visual of his savior.  

"Greetings, Lt. Cmdr. Jaspari.  Our organization shall be receiving you soon."

As he looked at the sky above, Markim saw that there was a name printed on the hull of the carrier: SISKA.

***

            The pilot of the craft turned out to be a fellow freedom fighter he had once known, a brown-haired woman who had tried to gain autonomy for the former sovereign country of China.  She had greeted him, but did not speak much after that- there were no good memories in war, and she respected his silence with more silence.  He had always regarded Sally Po as a different kind of person; she was one of the few women in the world that Wufei did not regard as weak.

            Aside from himself, the only passengers in the helicopter were Wufei and Relena.  The former sat broodingly, listening to the status of his injured agents with a headset communicator, and the latter slept quietly, leaning on Heero's shoulder.  When he had first entered the chopper, she had flung her arms around him, nearly knocking him off.  Crying softly, she murmured on how much she missed him, which disgusted Wufei.  Heero did not reply much, only telling her that it was good to see her, too, and then sunk into his seat.  After regaining her composure, she dozed off quickly. 

            Heero reflected upon their destination.  They had left the west coast an hour ago and were already over the Great Plains.  He constantly scanned the land outside the windows, trying to graph their route.  Obviously, they were going east, but the monotonous grasslands below yielded no clear clues as to their current place.  Heero grimly realized that his skill of instant location was failing.

            He sat back and closed his eyes.  Still ill at ease as always, Heero thought of the mission that he would receive.  Has another band of insurgents taken control of mobile suits?  _Likely, _he thought.  Even after two wars, there were still ragtag groups of rebels in the Earth Sphere, and still more who were ready to kill and die.  Of course, he and his other four compatriots were destined to have to return to the battlefields and to kill.  He glanced at Wufei, who was still preoccupied with bad news from his fellow peacekeepers.  Now, there was a man who would not shirk from duty.

            Back during the unfortunate Mariemaia Incident, also dubbed "Endless Waltz" for some reason or another by news agencies, the two comrades had been at each other's throats.  Suffering from another fit of apoplexy after realizing that he would have no more reason to live, and no kin to go back to, Wufei had decided to join with the malcontents and fight to destroy what he thought was not true peace.  In a battle that started on the very top of the exosphere of the planet, the two had dueled viciously but also resignedly.  Though in Wing Zero Heero would have won eventually, he opted to forfeit the match.  He had grown more and more tired of his purpose in life.  Though warring and killing was second nature to him, little by little, as a stream trickles through a wooden dam, his humanity was returning.  Heero had no great desire to return to war, no matter how just a cause.  

He looked at Relena for a moment, still sleeping.  _So much for getting a personal life…_

***

            Markim and Khalid marched side by side through the cold metal halls of the mobile suit carrier.  Each led a line of the prisoners of war for their side.  Markim frowned.  So, when were they going to kill him?  He had expected that these people would treat him and his men kindly after the Preventer force fled, but they had instead captured them after they docked in the ship.  Gritting his teeth, Markim wished that sometimes his Aries had a self-detonator.

            The POWs were escorted by soldiers dressed in gray uniforms and blue hats.  They wore no recognizable insignias save a little model of the Earth, colonies, Moon, and Mars in their orbits on their breast pockets- the universal symbol for Earth Sphere and the colonies of humanity.  These men most definitely were not agents of the ESUN, nor the short-lived World Nation.  Neither could they be forces of what was left of White Fang or the Mariemaia Army, which were currently allied to OZ.  No other renegade or rebel group could amass such great amounts of weapons.  

Then a thought struck him.  _Alliance revivalists, perhaps?  _He wondered.  If they were, then he definitely could look forward to a long, painful death.  The last surviving cells of the Alliance had nothing but pure hate for the purveyors of Operation Daybreak.

An older soldier- an officer by the number of white stripes on his hat, Markim guessed- walked in and addressed the men escorting the prisoners, "Take the Maganac trash to the interrogation rooms, and our OZ friends to their quarters.  Leave the two in front of the lines."

_OZ friends?_

The officer walked up to the two.  A bearded and almost elderly man, he looked to be old enough to have know life before any colonial conflict- perhaps even before the colonies themselves.

"Good day, soldiers of the Next Age!  Our organization salutes you all for continuing your efforts against the ESUN's attempts to stifle nature.  War is man's most basic instinct, greed, the second most.  We thank your work in preserving both."

Khalid, disgusted to meet a demagogue in the flesh, spat upon him.  "Surely you don't include us peacekeepers, war-monger."

The man spat back.  "You have your own uses, sure enough.  We shall speak soon about them.  Guard!  Take this fool to his cell.  Give him what he deserves, but keep him alive.  Barely."

As the Maganac left, he turned his attention to Markim.

"Commander Jacob Brighton, at your service," he introduced as he bowed.

"Commander- to whom?" Markim demanded.  "Who are you and what is your organization?  What is this SISKA?"

Smiling cryptically, Brighton replied, "We are the conquerors of the next Earth and the builders of the next freedom."

***

Three hours later, Heero was flying over the Northern Atlantic.  After more fitful dreams, he woke to Relena clinging to him.  Still asleep, she was a picture of quiet beauty, a queen not as attractive as many of the celebrities and popular idols of Hollywood and the L2 Glitterati District, but much more real.  He stroked her hair, recollecting the old times when she had been ready for him to kill her.  Relena had definitely changed since then, for she knew as much as he did that the murky road to peace had to be illuminated by the heirs of Sanc.

            He looked out upon the boundless ocean.  The salt glittered from the moonlight like a mirror reflecting the sky of shining stars above.  A few scattered, uninhabited islands broke up the mirror, mostly rocky but also a few boggy and even a couple big enough to have valleys.  They were many miles from civilization, Heero surmised, but there were a few twinkling lights just above the horizon- nocturnal patrol boats.  After a few minutes, the helicopter started to descend.  Directly below was a small island with a heliport, a lighthouse, and several buildings, including an ancient cathedral.  

_A coast guard base with a church? _

"Buckle up, people, we're landing," announced Sally Po.

Turning to Wufei, Heero said, "We are at the island of Iona in the Inner Hebrides, 56 degrees north, 6 degrees west.  The island of Mull is half a mile to the east, and we are 36 miles away from the mainland.  An abbey was founded here in A.D. 563.  It has been invaded many times, the last in U.C. 49 by the soviet of Scandinavia.  The island was used as a base to hide Scottish anti-Communist forces until the Althing air raid destroyed most of the buildings."

Wufei met his gaze.  "Your skill still exists, but you are wrong.  The main cathedral was not destroyed, and nor were the tunnels under the surface."

            The helicopter hovered in mid-air as lights on the landing pad flashed.  Many people were on the heliport, waiting for them, and Sally landed it easily as she had done it many times before.  As Heero stepped out of the plane, he was greeted by an older man in a brown Preventer uniform.  Nearly seven feet tall, the soldier was a man with many lines on his weathered face, and a thin scar on a right cheek that ran nearly to his chin.  With a distinguished look of determination, not unlike charismatic World President Churchill, he seemed to be smiling slightly as he shook his hand.  This displeased the old soldier's entourage- a group of more black-suited thugs armed with pistols and switch-blades, all knowing the fate of their comrades who had tried to capture Heero Yuy.  On the other hand, the man seemed like he would be fully capable of defending himself, though he looked to be over fifty.

            "Mr. Yuy," he greeted, "it is an honor to meet the Perfect Soldier.  I am General Daniel Henry Patrick.  Welcome to Preventers Agency Headquarters."

***

Far, far above the Hebrides and the British Isles laid a celestial wheel turning in place.  The inhabitants within felt the spinning force as gravity, and called it not only their home, but also their Earth amidst a cosmos of conflict and turmoil.  However, today the madness of earth and the major colonies had reached even this city in space- D-0321258 of Midpoint 8, located in a somewhat stable area between Lagrange Points 3 and 4.  Having been undisturbed during the War, the new settlement had since become a diplomatic center for intercolonial relations.

In the heart of Paxpolis, the City of Peace, a great conference was in session at the ESUN Colonial Center.  Within the space-synthesized marble halls surrounded by crystal-clear fountain waters and statues of Heero Yuy the Liberator, King Peacecraft the Originator, Field Marshal Noventa the Reformer, and Minster Darlian the Negotiator as well as countless of other martyrs, scores of diplomats from all of the colonies were in heated discussion on the peace process.  One of them was Quatre Raberba Winner.

"Gentlemen," he began, "It stands to reason that the unification of the colonies with Earth has shown great promise of both cultural and economical harmony and prosperity!  Then, why must the delegations of L3 and L5 continue to urge economic sanctions and boycotts of ESUN trade?  While we acknowledge the capability of the colonies of these clusters to be self-sufficient, why do you resist our warm advances?"

"The delegate from the ESUN is correct in stating that embracing the Earth Sphere fully is beneficial in an economic sense," replied a Han L5 diplomat, "but is utterly wrong in implying that cultural unity is helpful for the destiny of our colonies.  It was in the spirit of colonial unity that White Fang fought to destroy Earth.  It was in the spirit of unity that OZ armed the colonies so they would rebel against the homeworld and kill each other in mutually assured destruction.  It was in the spirit of unity that the Alliance descended upon the colony of the Chang Clan and exterminated them for being nonconformists with the pretext of cleansing an infection!  How many more lives will it cost so that a unified organization professing "peace" and "unity" may conquer all of humanity?"

The mediator, a Lunar colonist, smashed his gavel repeatedly.  "Dilatory!  Dilatory!  We may be in a moderated caucus, delegate, but that exceeds all of the time allotted.  Also, there shall be no grandstanding in this conference!"          

Slightly incensed by the man's sudden call for isolationism and by the comparisons to OZ and White Fang, Quatre called for a right of reply and had it granted.

"Honorable Mr. Hsueh, I fully understand such negative sentiments held by any colonists against an organization that preaches for an unified Earth Sphere under itself, but I must ask for all of our committee to realize this:  divided we fall.  The ESUN has no wishes to spread cultural uniformity, either by forced immigration or even distribution of media, but only to establish a standard that would allow colonies and nations to be open to human rights and cooperation."

"That's easy for you to say, Winner, you who have sold your colony for more oil on Earth," called a disrespectful delegate from L3.  And so, the room flew into chaos.

            "The Winners don't even care for their fellow Arabs and Muslims in need; they've sold out to the big corps!" cried one from Earth.

            " The Winner patriarch was an OZ collaborator, and his son a monster!" screamed an L1 diplomat.

            "He murdered an entire colony in his madness!" yelled yet another- a man from his own colonies cluster of L4!

Many delegates were standing up now, defending or attacking Quatre, the ESUN, and Earth itself.  However, Quatre focused on one thing: the painful truth of his court-forgiven but never forgotten rampage.  Angered, he jumped up, ran into the mass of arguing delegates, and punched the L4 heckler right in the face, knocking him down from his chair.  The room suddenly quieted.  Shocked that a delegate so young, so pacifistic would do such a thing, the entire committee was speechless. Before anyone could say anything, Quatre spoke. 

"Can't you people see?" he asked slowly, tiredly.  "What happened in the past was the direct cause of irresponsible acts done at all levels, by all peoples from the Colonies.  The murder of my father was committed by OZ.  The Zero system was created by colonial rebels, as well as Wing Zero itself.  The gundanium and the beam cannon weapons were both purchased and manufactured freely thanks to the lack of weapon control laws in space.  All set a chain of events that led to my insanity.

"No, I am not absolving myself from wrong.  But you must realize that even now the colonies are still the next 'hot spot' of the Earth Sphere, a place where a thousand more guerrillas- freedom fighter or terrorist, it doesn't matter- will be able to rise.  When will the colonies realize that Earth is the birthplace of humanity?  When will you realize that unity is achieved not solely for the purpose of prosperity, but security?  And when will you realize that we need not only security, but human harmony?  Human love?"

Quatre had scarcely finished his speech when another uproar began.  One of the L3 delegates screamed for security to apprehend him, and several rushed in his direction in fury.  His supporters fought them off, and soon the whole conference became a mockery as delegate fought delegate.  He closed his eyes and sank into the seat of the man he had punched.  It was no use.

A tall Berber walked into the conference room.  Ignoring the anarchy from the Earth Sphere's most orderly people outside of accounting firms, Rashid Kuarma looked for Master Quatre, hoping that he was all right.  Spotting him keeled over in his seat amidst the storm, he ran through the crowd and addressed him.  Looking up at the savior with devil's-horns-like hair, Quatre said a brief word of thanks.  They then proceeded to pummel the security guards around them, beating them to the ground and then running for the exit.  Rashid felt bad for the whole run.  The news he had to give Quatre would make this failed peace talk seem like a simple bar fight.

***

            The hangar had walls of solid gundanium a hundred feet high.  Ironically, they were guarding even more pieces of the metal- but also a whole lot more important.  Heero sighed an inaudible sigh once he entered the room.  Unsurprisingly, the Gundams were alive.  He had suspected that they were never destroyed after Endless Waltz, or that the five scientists had been called out of retirement.  Either way, Gundams Wing Zero, Deathscythe Hell, Heavyarms Kai, Sandrock Kai, and Altron were still alive.  The greatest weapons of portable mass destruction were still in the Earth Sphere, capable of more murder and genocide at that very moment.

            "Inhale and exhale slowly and deeply, Mr. Yuy," suggested General Henry Patrick, chuckling.  "We don't want to lose you."

            Heero stared at him with murderous intent, "You want me to pilot, don't you?  So, will I have to become a horseman of the Apocalypse again?"

            "Calm down, Mr. Yuy.  We are simply showing you our armory.  We have no need for your piloting skills yet."

            "But you will eventually, right?  I'm going to be a war machine within a war machine sooner or later."

            He took out a pistol he had stole from one of the Preventers earlier and held it to his head.  "My days of fighting are behind me.  The next war will not be mine."

            "So will you die for yourself?  My, my, you want redemption from nothing, eh?  Isn't this touching?  More innocent blood will be spilled by the aggressors just so you won't agree to spill those of the guilty?  How dramatic!  How very much like a martyr!  How stupid!" snarled the General.

            Relena walked up to Heero and slapped him across the face backhanded, causing him to almost shoot her in surprise.  As the bullet recoiled off Deathscythe, not leaving a scratch on the perfect black paint, Relena said, "Heero?  How can you do this?  You don't even know why we want you here and you want to self-destruct already!  You can't escape your past, and neither can you escape your future.  You can run all you want, but you will end up fighting no matter what.

            Heero remained flabbergasted and silent, and so Relena continued, softening her voice, "You tried to change for me, and that was noble.  You tried to change for all of the Earth Sphere, and that was courageous.   But Heero… you can try to hide from your purpose and from **them** as much as you want.  Those who want you, those who want you to kill and attack and war for the sake of war itself, they will find you.  And…  I will find you."  

            She stared into Heero's cold eyes.  They stared back.  Furtively, Relena could see them waver for a moment, as if he was truly considering what she had just said, and that it had truly affected him.  Leaning forward, she kissed him softly on the cheek.

            The General cleared his throat, interrupting the scene.  "Ahem, well, that is all fine and good.  However, there is the matter of the reason why we called you here…"

            Wufei broke in.  "The reason why we called you here to is to aid us in our eternal struggle against the weaklings who conspire against stability and the status quo with mobile suits and weapons of war.  It is time that you joined the Preventers in fighting against those who are unjust."

            Heero looked at him.  "Who?" he asked. 


	2. Current Events and Past Chronicles

_Note_: Since I am now devoting all of my fanfiction time on my long-delayed Matrix story, _Film Noir Continued_, I am ending this ambitious project, which was to span fifty episodes.  Unfortunately, this isn't even the end of the second one.  In any case, I am publishing the first draft of the second episode in order to entertain the two or possibly three people who actually read the first one.  Enjoy! Episode Two: Current Events and Past Chronicles 

Location: Earth…

            Continent: Asia

            Subcontinent: Arabian Peninsula (Cultural Area- Middle East (Arab/Muslim))

            Province: United Arab States****

Area: Rub 'Al Khali (Great Empty Quarter)

            Latitude: 20°, 14' North

            Longitude: 54°, 44' East

            Site: Desert (Preventer Tuwayfil 'Sentinel Ops' Outpost 24.5 kilometers to northwest)

Date: June 21st, AC 198

Time: Local Time 12:02:06 P.M.

Footage: 1 (of 1)

Camera: One mounted on nose of PFS Middle East division 'Camera Customed'                   ESUN-17 Zipper Helicopter, one mounted in cockpit

            Cameraman: Corporal J.H. Ross

Status: Playing…

            "Begin log.  This is Corporal J.H. Ross of PFMES camera corps.  I am the only damned recorder of this historic battle who has the honor of having no part in it.  [_Sighs_]  First, here's the war plan:

            [_A side panel in the cockpit displays a map of the area.  Corporal Ross mutters, "You survive the Battle of Bremen and all you get is to be a fucking historian."_]

            "The OZ forces have being hiding in the Arab Desert for years.  Most were stationed in Doha, Riyadh, and the Līwā Oasis, but others were hiding in case their Organization was destroyed.  Well, they had some pretty impressive MS production facilities and training camps, and the ESUN annexed most of them when the Roman Fellows joined the World Nation.  There was lots of angry OZzies, though, but after we captured the main group in Albany last year about… say, 60% of OZ's forces worldwide deserted.  Around 15% of the remaining ones fled to this desert and other backwaters, and then history becomes current events.  Last month's invasion of Darwin basically eliminated all of OZ.  That is, except for this group.

            [_The display shifts to a battle plan.  Thick blue arrows extend from a base in the northwest to the point of a red arrow.  The red arrows extend from the current area to halfway the length to the Tuwayfil base, while three blue arrows surround the arrow from all sides._]

            "This is the strategy for Operation: High Noon.  The OZ forces think that Tuwayfil's just a town with a small MS factory in the middle of nowhere.  That's not quite true.  You see, the entire town is the barracks of our base- we don't just make the suits to help these little villagers and nomads, but also to supply the entire Middle East Division.  Unfortunately for OZzies, they'll be facing around a whole division of actual soldiers, Arab and Bedouin militias from nearby villages, and their old friends- the Maganac Corps.  Meanwhile, I'll be the unofficial commentator of this massacre, so why don't you sit back and enjoy this documen-"

            [_The film cuts off.  Presumably, the corporal was being disciplined by his superior officer for displaying levity._

_The film then returns.  The battle begins.  Everything goes as planned, as several OZ _Titan_-class MS carriers airdrop a platoon of Aries into the desert.  Meanwhile, a convoy of around a brigade of assorted mobile suits- Leos, Tragoi, Tauruses, Serpents, even a few Virgos.  All look battle-scarred and worn.  The corporal snidely calls the carriers "Galls."  Apparently, he is hiding in the thick dust.  He also says that there was a sandstorm in the area, and that the OZ MS were not well-shielded… _

_And so, the battle begins as giant 105mm machine gun emplacements as well as shell-based artillery defend the outpost far beyond the actual village.  Though they don't do too much damage, even against the damaged mobile suits, they prove to be an effective distraction.  As the sand increases, a shrouded group of Preventer Serpents attacks the suits from the west.  Another group follows from the southwest, and a throng of militiamen from the east.  Lastly, Maganacs attack from the south._

_Though they are new and very inexperienced, the PFM deals much damage to the OZ force in the dust.  They have even more support as Tragos and Oliphants provided artillery from afar, and as helicopters and land tanks swarm at fleeing forces or those that strayed to the edge of the battlefield, more like deadly tsetse flies rather than annoying gnats.   The initial battle lasts for thirty minutes._

_Eventually, Commander Lawrence makes his plea for surrender.  Most soldiers capitulate, but one does not, and his resistance is followed by an attempt to fight, again.  Of course, it fails, but Corporal Ross flies above him, noticing his will to become a martyr and to inspire his friends to resist futilely._

_Declaring (unofficially) the battle over and the entire operation a victory for the ages, the corporal follows some of his fellow soldiers and heads for Tuwayfil.  However, he notices that a large aircraft was heading in the area.  He captures the very first images of the huge carrier, and also pictures of the new-type mobile suits jettisoned.  Corporal Ross also realizes that the entire coalition is outnumbered.  Despite that the helicopter has very little shielding and no defensive weapons, he flies toward the battle to make sure that headquarters would get all the information they can about these invaders.  He also begins transmitting the entire video._

_The film ends as he shouts that the rotor had been punctured by guns from the carrier. The nose-mounted camera shows his fate- a face-first crash onto the desert floor. _]

            General Daniel Henry Patrick stopped the projection.  He stood beside the sitting Heero in the dark briefing room.

            "Despite the insubordination he developed after Endless Waltz, Corporal Ross was a good man.  His sacrifice was not in vain," saluted the General.

            Heero was not impressed.  "Is that the end of the transmission?"

            "Yes.  The rest of the camera corps was in mobile suits.  A 07.2 Tragos started broadcasting, but it was destroyed before it was completed.  We sent reinforcements from the Oasis as soon as we got the late corporal's, though.  This is the result."

            He pressed a button.  The projector in the video room showed pictures of military-styled buildings that were burnt out.  There was also footage of collapsed little houses of the village and crying, traumatized locals.

            "They completely looted and destroyed the outpost.  They also took all of the mobile suits.  The villagers protested, and some of them had their homes crushed.  Many of them had relatives who were in the militias.  Also-" the General showed a picture of empty desert landscape, "the entire battlefield has been cleaned.  They took all of the broken equipment, all of the bodies of our soldiers, and even the goddamned scrap metal!  Not even the sandstorm could have done as much as they did- those bastards took everything.  Everything!"

            The General paused for a moment to regain his composure, and began a slideshow of seemingly incomprehensible technical data.

            The first image was a blueprint for the humongous carrier.

            "We believe that it is a _Peacemillion_-class super carrier.  I am sure that you already know much about the _Peacemillion_, so I shall tell you of the modifications.  The only data we have found is that the carrier have been upgraded much.  It seems to have a propulsion system similar to the original, but efficient to the extent that it is extremely quiet.  It is also undetectable by radar-probably a terrestrial hyper-jammer variant.  As you have seen from the Zipper's footage, no one noticed the ship until it was **directly above** the battlefield."

            Next came plans of the strange mobile suits the carrier deployed.  They were similar to old Leos, but their heads were smaller and rounder- in fact, they were spheres that connected to the body by a mass of straight, thick coil.  Two long, thin antennas protruded from two sides of the head, giving it an almost insect-like appearance.  However, the strangest part about the head was that it had not one camera eye, but two ovals that covered the entire front of the "face". 

            The chassis itself was much like the Virgo, with large shoulders that apparently housed missiles.  Its main weapon was a giant cannon mounted on its shoulder; in fact, the one in the plan had it rising upwards.  Heero also noticed that the mobile suit had a strange band of metal around its waist, as well a large shield that covered its entire torso mounted on the other arm.

            "This is the MMS-02P Orion Prototype MS.  It was originally supposed to complement the Serpents during Endless Waltz, but it was never produced- too much a drain on resources, or so the Barton boys say.  It was not meant to be a Mercurius-Vayeate symbiosis, just two good general-purpose suits mutually supporting each other.  Anyway, the suits demanded too much Gundanium and neo-titanium for it to be really effective- that whole shield is hard to put away, anyhow.

            "The suit has a few innovations.  The large camera eyes compensates for the large head, and that belt around the suit holds several more weapons- a beam saber, as well as crackerjacks."

            A short clip began.  Apparently, it was a test Orion throwing large, metal tubes.  The tubes hit several targets and exploded twice.  First, the metal shell blasted off, destroying the target.  Then, a smaller tube in the grenade shattered, setting the wreckage on fire.

            "Inventive, no?  However, the real punch is the bazooka."

            The clip switched to outer space.  A lone Orion floated, the Earth far behind it.  In front of him was nothing.  A far zoom later, one could see some faint lights shining.  Another target.

            The Orion fired the bazooka.  After a blinding flash, one could see that the target was completely annihilated, the lights destroyed, gone into the void.

            "It's more than a regular missile launcher.  Its range is over ten miles."      

            For once, Heero was shocked.  It was not so much the bloodshed, for he had spilled much more in his time, but the number of fighters.  Ever since he gave up war, he had always assumed that war would be over- at least for his generation.  OZ was gone, the colonial rebels placated, and the peace that civilians yearned for had survived.  Now, not only did the original zealots still exist, but now another group with seemingly immense resources had rescued them- and he didn't expect that they were doing that for justice.  What he had previously imagined to be a group of powerful but few terrorists, akin to the Mariemaia Army, seemed to be a whole new Romefeller- a whole new OZ.

            General Henry Patrick switched the screen again.  There were pictures of large civilian ships and assorted machinery- specialized nets, cranes, and scoops, all picking up discarded fragments from old vehicles.  Heero noticed the stylish swoop of the SG logo.

            "Mr. Yuy, I shall be blunt.  This whole battle is not only a great injury against the whole Preventer Field Soldiery, but an insult.  The sandstorms not only buried all of the clues to our enemies, but They were keen enough to take everything up beforehand.  The data we have shown you is based on crude analysis of the video.  The Orion files were a lucky find- we decrypted several Century Discover Corporation sites on the Net.  We have virtually no information about this enemy and nearly no leads."

            "So the Sweepers are your suspects?"

            "I was getting to that.  As you have known, the Sweepers have always been neutral in war, but skilled at it- conceivably.  The ESUN can't pay for battlefield junkmen, and the Sweepers work for free.  They've been cleaning up after us soldiers and enjoying the spoils of war since the early years of the UESA."

            "They are not soldiers."

            "True, Mr. Yuy.  Unfortunately, the Sweeper Group is the only possible suspect- we're counting on them to be at least connected with the enemy somehow.  Equipment sales, or they were hired to destroy the evidence."

            "Have you questioned any?"

            "No, we do not need any in the Earth Sphere knowing that anything is wrong.  However, we have enough of our own in the Sweepers to know if something's afoot.  Currently, there's been no major operations.  The plot is more hidden deeper."

            General Henry Patrick paused.  "Despite our attempted kidnapping, your alias 'Ryo Black' has been very successful.  It was quite prudent for you to hide in western North America.  No soldiers moving much there after you attacked New Edwards, no veterans to recognize you.  That is exactly what you will exploit in your mission."

            _At last._  Thought Heero.

            "The Sweepers are chockfull of war vets and peacenik idealists, harmless folks.  Still, we believe that at least some of their management dealt with the enemy.  You shall infiltrate them, and reveal yourself to be the legendary Heero Yuy.  Devise some way to keep them from knowing that we are investigating them."

            "What of Howard?"

            "Most of the survivors from the _Peacemillion _are with us."

            "All of them?"

            General Henry Patrick grinned.  "But of course."

            A door opened.  L2 mobile suit pilot Duo Maxwell, the loquacious American and the cheerful face of the Gundam five entered.

            "What's up, Heero…?"

            The Commander's office was eclectic, to say the least.  The décor was nonexistent- oaken bookcases, flickering television screens, large world maps, and abstract Impressionist paintings of giant spinning tops against darkness covered the walls.  His sleek, immaculate desk was hidden with neatly stacked piles of paperwork and a giant globe.  It stood on a floor wrapped by some sort of Eastern rug.  There were two seats.  An ergonomic swivel behind the desk, and a cold, steel skeleton of a seat in front.

            Commander Brighton entered first, and motioned for Lieutenant Markim to sit.  He did.

            "Lieutenant, before I begin I would like you to examine that globe."

            Markim sat stiffly, uncomfortable at the whole situation.  As a veteran of the Eve Wars, he had had such encounters as a POW, always designed to change his mind and to convert him to the opposition.  First step: courtesy.

            The globe had an archaic look to it.  There were no lines to show the orbits of the colonies, and the lettering were all in English- no Esperanto words or Pan-Asian iconography.  The most distinct peculiarity of it was that there were solid, dark territory lines all over it. 

            "This is based on a pre-AC map, isn't it, sir?"

            "Not quite.  It is based on a pre-Alliance one that we modified somewhat.  As you can see, Lieutenant Jaspari, there are only four regions highlighted."

            Markim turned the globe slowly, and examined the regions.  One was a strange cluster in South America that contained the northern portion of the Andes stretching to parts of the Amazon rainforest all the way up to the Caribbean Sea.  It was named "Sierraguay."  An unpronounceable territory named "Ishbula'tenjn" covered a major portion of Central Europe, from the western part of the Indian subcontinent to parts of Asia Minor.  Strangely, it was not a coherent whole and there were spots of the same color labeled with the initial "Ish." in many other bits of Asia.  A snake-like region was contained to a long northeastern stretch of the Himalayas, the head of "Silkmanda" was formed by a region bordered by several large lakes.  The last region was composed of a small portion of Eastern Europe- called "Karemnia," it contained most of the Carpathian Mountains.

            He looked at Brighton quizzically.  "What are these provinces?".

            The other man sighed and sat down in his chair, behind the desk.  "These are not the 'provinces' of the ESUN, nor the 'sectors' of the old Alliance.  What you see on the globe is something you cannot understand.  Tell me, Lieutenant- do you know what a country is?"

            Markim was indignant.  "Of course, sir.  I have gone to college, after all."

            "I knew that and care not.  Everyone born in the UESA has had secondary education provided by _them _with _their_ indoctrinated lessons.  Tell me what a country is."

            Markim frowned slightly, recalling former world history classes at Kabul U. before replying, "In the days before the colonies were completely established, geo-political divisions split the surface of the Earth into hundreds of distinct governments.  Due to their squabbling, almost all wars fought on Earth was between the countries or between national governments and their own people.  That lasted until the Alliance took control on After Colony One."

            The other grimaced.  "What you say is partly true, but it is distorted by propaganda.  I had never expected that a young OZ soldier like you- especially an officer- would sprout such tripe."

            "Forgive me, sir.  I am only repeating what my professors taught."

            "Hmph.  Returning to the matter at hand, what you have been told by the globalists is their doctrine, that of effete, liberal oppression.  For centuries, those who have feared nationalism and the sovereignty of nations feared that they would always remain separate and therefore uncontrollable.  With the advent of the space colonies, the powers that be had humanity build hundreds of castles in the sky, keeping our forefathers busy while the others spread their unionist dogma.  The United Earth Sphere Alliance and the united oil-bearers aspired to control the world- and they have succeeded!"

            _Lunacy,_ thought Markim.  Second step: Crying injustice.

            "I know what you are thinking, Lieutenant.  Yes, you believe that this is indeed a paranoia of mine, a belief in conspiracy, but look about you- it has succeeded.  I am not Hitler nor Bin Laden, neither Pol Pot nor McCarthy, neither Sukowa nor Barton; I do not believe that those who are in control are of any specific race, religion, or political affiliation.  In fact, they _don't_ want such identities.  The entire world is wrapped up all shiny and nice in the wrapping paper of uniformity and solidarity and conformity.  The Earth Sphere Unified Nations is the ribbon that ties the prize.  All of humanity kowtows to World President Churchill and that damned teenage pacifist.  Why?  Because _they_ won the wars, and so they must be right and must have the right to rule the Earth, right?  The masses have been won over by their triumph.  The destruction of two hundred sovereign nations is upon their hands.  All thanks to _her_."

            "Though we have received much funding from the ESUN Peacekeeping Department, most of our economic aid and equipment is from the Sanc Kingdom, with may thanks to Deputy Minister Peacecraft," said General Henry Patrick, leading them through a reinforced metal hallway containing many barricaded doors, each opening as they went through. 

He barely heard him.  Duo was talking his ear off about all sorts of typical claptrap.  Of course, they had much to catch up with, but Heero simply did not want to know how Hilde Scheibaker (newly engaged to Duo) was doing.  Some tidbits were truly informative: Trowa was in Europe on tour with Catherine, Howard had built the Peacemilion II, and Quatre was AWOL, but the rest were merely blather.

They stopped in front of  the biggest of the ports.  It was as high as a garage door, and was probably several feet thick.  "Heero, now you have an idea about the what and the who, it is time for the how and the why."

General H.P. inserted a card at a console.  It scanned both his hands, his retinas, and had him whisper a password into a microphone.  Access granted.  The door of the Central Intelligence Armory slid open, and they stepped in.

Inside was a control room of sorts, large as an auditorium.  Heero examined room. In front of them were six technicians busily working at terminals.  There were dozens, though, divided into four rows split in the middle by an aisle.  It resembled the Mission Control of spaceports.  On the far wall was a giant electronic map of the world with hundreds of lines and thousands of dots on it.  On the right side of the room was a mechanical monstrosity- a great mainframe, covered with a jungle of wiring and strange components and connected to five tanks of coolant to prevent the overheating of the circuitry.  Like some sort of heart of a metallic alien hive, its great mass connected to the wall and cords hung in each direction.

"Welcome to our Armory, Mr. Yuy," pronounced the General with an air to grandeur.

"This is our nerve center, our central processing unit, our cerebrum.  This is where each and every web all the spiders of the Earth Sphere contact and come together.  Here is the focal point, here is our Echelon."

Duo glanced at him startlingly, "Wufei didn't tell me this was Echelon when he gave me this tour!"

The General looked amused.  "Well, we have our different levels of intel.  Indeed, this is Echelon, or rather its offspring.  Mr. Yuy."

"Echelon was a project conceived and rumored to be implemented by North American and European intelligence agencies in the AD Twentieth Century, during the First Cold War.  It was an electronic system that could link trillions of bits of information at once, so that any movement or scheme attempted by the Russo-Communists could be thwarted.  However, after the beginning of the Islamism War and the subsequent failure of NorAm spies it was thought to be overrated and simply a myth."

"Indeed.  However, the truth is that Echelon was always real.  There were many struggles to keep control of it during the ages, too many and too boring to mention all.  But in the end,  Echelon became a property of the Sanc Kingdom.  The King Sanc I managed to buy it from the remnants of the Universal Socialists in a secret agreement to shut it down.  By then this web had truly shrunk, and was almost worthless."

He pointed at the supercomputer on the right.  "And we made it all better again.  First, it's links are all based on stealth Satcomm.  Second, all of our nodes have server computers with laser hardware- not experimental ones, but actual optic circuits.  In fact, every terminal here on this island runs on O.C.s.  Last, that mainframe holds everything together.  We call it          Alpha-Omega.

"It is the first of its kind, a computer with enough power to sweep through the Net, copy every single sector, and store it all with room to spare.  It's an H.Z.P., the Helix Zetta Processor, named because the number of bytes it can process in a second in ten to the **_twenty-first _**power.  It doesn't run on O.C.s, but rather organic circuits- it's hell to maintain, but once it gets started, it can administer sextillions of calculations.  And the reason why we need Alpha-O is this."

General Henry Patrick gestured to the massive screen.  "This is EMPATHY-            Earth-Sphere Multi-Variable Processing and Adminstration of Telemetric Human analYsis.  It's Echelon's greatest great-great-great-great-great-grandchild.  It not only combines every single bit of data we receive- military intelligence, national intelligence, reports of social stability, statistics of every kind, etc., but it acts as our Oracle.  It is the Zero System of geopolitical simulation.  It tells us the future of the world."

He whispered to a nearby technician, who immediately typed a command on a computer.  The giant screen flashed and the map was divided into many regions of color.


End file.
